Share a Coke
by madame.alexandra
Summary: The title explains it all, really, except this is really fluffy and - plot twist - it's set in Season 11. But Jenny's not dead ! Jibbs, cuteness.


_a/n: like honestly i'm obsessed with this coke campaign and i'm absolutely baffled that i haven't done this yet. _

**_note - it's just a fic that asks you to suspend disbelief and disregard judgment day. except literally everything else happened. also - this might make little sense if you haven't been watching through season 12. _**

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Jennifer Shepard rubbed her temples tensely, trying to soothe the tension headache that had been plaguing her all day. She squinted narrowly at the paperwork in front of her, trying to make sense of words that were slowly becoming blurrier as she became sleepier. She bit her lip in frustration and leaned back; her shoulders hit the seat of her comfortable leather chair right as her office door flew open, making her think for a moment that the weight of her annoying day had made the crashing noise, rather than one stubborn, monolithic, Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

She arched her eyebrows, wondering if this was going to be a close-the-door kind of conference or a yell-at-each-other kind of conference. He looked at her for a moment, and then strolled back and shut the door gently, nodding his head when he heard a satisfied click.

"Can I help you, Agent Gibbs?"

He pointed at the door.

"I closed it," he informed her seriously, giving her a look. "It's closed, _Jen_," he repeated pointedly.

"Can I help you, Jethro?" she corrected, obliging him by obeying one of their _rules_.

He nodded smugly, and then shrugged. He adjusted his sweatshirt – casual Fridays, and he always wore that damn bulky orange hoodie – he basically blended in with the walls, the colour was such an obnoxious eyesore. He sat down on her couch and leaned back, arms spread out behind him.

"Team's gone home," he grunted.

"Did Bishop pass her polygraph?"

"With flying colours," Gibbs said. He snorted. "I don't think Pollyanna could lie if her life depended on it," he added, rolling his eyes.

"Hmm," Jenny said neutrally. She tilted her head, turning her nose up a little. "I don't know that I'll ever get used to a blonde head down there next to you," she remarked, somewhat regretfully.

Gibbs was quiet a moment.

"She wanted to leave, Jen," he said. "You couldn't stop 'er anymore than I could."

"Well, now we've got DiNozzo off on hook-up vacations once a month, McGee requesting leave time to see Delilah every five seconds," Jenny griped lightly, biting her lip. "It's a blatant inconvenience for those two to finally get their romantic shit together when the only person we've got to hold down the fort is a fossil and Laura Ingalls Wilder, twenty-first century update."

"I'm the fossil?" he clarified, pointing to his chest.

She gave him a look. He shrugged, grinning a little.

"You'll get used to the blonde," he said, sitting forward. He gave her a look. "Never thought I'd get used to the red in this office," he added.

She nodded, shrugging as if to say – _you did, and here I am_. He smiled a little tiredly, his eyes resting on the scar that graced her right side of her neck, from a close call in the desert seven years ago.

"Is she decent at her job?" Jenny asked warily.

"She's like Kate."

"I didn't know Agent Todd."

Gibbs lifted his shoulders.

"Need people like Bishop," he decided. "She's not old enough to be miserable yet."

"Like the rest of us?"

"Yeah."

"You just come up here to shoot the bull before you go, or you need somethin'?" Jenny asked, moving straight on with the conversation. She rubbed her head again, starting rhythmic little motions on her temple.

He got up and went over to her liquor cabinet, browsing the selection. He turned to glance at her, and then gestured at it.

"Never did understand this set up," he said. "The Director just has, hell, free reign to get hammered up here?"

Jenny smiled a little, amused.

"I think it's intended to get others drunk. Those I need favors from."

"Ah," he said, taking a decanter of bourbon and carrying it over. He dragged a chair up in front of her desk, sitting down and placing two-crystal tumbler's he'd grabbed in front of them.

Jenny sat forward a little.

"Do I need a favor from you?" she asked, taken aback – he usually didn't start pouring her whiskey until they were back at his place.

He gave her a wry look and then smirked.

"You only have to ask," he drawled, and she rolled her eyes.

"It's always sex with you," she retorted.

"Nah," he denied casually, unscrewing the stopper of the decanter. "You're the one always bringing that up, 'm just tryin' to help you relax."

"You're telling me that wasn't a line?"

Gibbs shrugged.

"Gutter brain, Jen," he said innocently.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"How does that team put up with you, still? After twelve years?"

"I don't talk to them," he pointed out.

"Oh, that's right. Huh, what's the secret to getting you to not talk?"

He shrugged. He smirked.

"'M not tryin' to get 'em in bed."

"You bastard, I knew it."

He grinned, shaking his head. He poured a small measure of bourbon into each glass and gave her a look as he righted the decanter and replaced the stopper, holding his hands out and up.

"If you keep coming up here after hours, Jethro, they'll think we're up to something."

"They've known we're_ up to somethin' _since you got back from medical leave, six years ago," he grunted.

"Did you tell them?"

"Nah, I trained 'em as investigators."

He shot her a look, and then shrugged.

"Can't bank on keepin' it a secret forever. Doesn't matter."

She leaned forward and started to take a glass from him, but he stopped her, his palm over both tumblers. He shook his head, and gave her a look – _wait._

"I got somethin' for you," he said.

"It's not my birthday."

"Yeah, I'm a charmer," he drawled, and reached inside the large pocket of his hoodie to pull something out. It was a bulky object, and he had started talking before she really focused on it. "Saw it in the fridge at my diner, front and center," he said. "Collector's item."

She leaned forward, trying to focused with her tired eyes, and then she reached out, wrapping her hand around the slim, slightly warm glass bottle and pulling it closer – it was one of those cheesy coke bottles, the ones with the hip social media hash tag and the names written on them –

_#ShareACoke_

and this one said

_-Jenny. _

She smiled, and looked up through her lashes, amused, but mostly surprised.

"You got one already?" he asked bluntly.

She shook her head, licking her lips.

"I only could see Jennifer, anywhere," she said.

"Yeah, didn't get that, 'cos you hate it," he said simply.

She nodded – he knew that well, how much she hated being called by her full name. She held the glass bottle gingerly in her hand, still admiring it, and then her brow furrowed, and she looked up.

"What made you pick this up?" she asked.

Yes, they'd been keeping an easy relationship for years now; they didn't see other people, and they had a silent understanding as to what they were to each other, comfortable, friendly, probably a little more – both understood they were too fucked up to seek out other people, and they knew each other, so they stayed together, and it was romantic in an unconventional way.

He made a bold gesture with his hand, and took it back.

"I'm bein' _thoughtful_," he said, smirking. "You wanna keep it untouched, or you wanna share it?"

She bit her lip, and grinned; making a motion with her hands that he should open it. He whisked off the metal top with a strong palm, and flicked it at her playfully before pouring even amounts of fizzy soda into each tumbler of bourbon. Then, and only then, did he allow her to take her just-after-five whiskey, and toast to her.

He took a drink, and made a face – he hated his bourbon with a mixer. She laughed and downed hers quickly, glad for the buzz and the distraction. She licked her lips and got up, coming around and sitting on the edge of the desk in front of him. She picked up the empty bottle and held it on her knee, admiring it.

"I'll put a flower in it or something," she teased.

He shook his head.

"Nah, got my own idea," he said smugly, and when she waited, and he said nothing, she opened her mouth to pry, but he interrupted. "You want to go home?" he asked, looking a little tired himself.

She put a hand to her heart.

"You're not going to stay and stare in a trance at pictures of Parsa, willing him to jump off the screen and let you kill him?"

"Not tonight."

"You'll get him, Jethro. We'll get him."

"I know."

They looked at each other a moment, and then she nodded.

"Yeah, let's go home."

She got her things while he grudgingly polished his drink off, and she buzzed her security to let them know they were free to leave; she had a safe ride. In the outer office, turning off the lights, she stopped him.

"Wait – Jethro, what are you going to do with this bottle?" she asked, holding up the coke – the white _Jenny_ letters glinted in the dim light.

He shrugged, approaching her and putting his hand over hers, tapping lightly on the glass.

"Put a boat in it," he told her gruffly.

Her eyes lit up, and she laughed a little – he had to be kidding, but of course he wasn't – and of course only he could find a way to do something that simultaneously sensitive and masculine.

"Is its name going to be Jenny?" she asked cutely.

"The bottle's the Jenny," he retorted.

She tilted her head at him. She parted her lips, and then gave him sort of an amused glare.

"I suppose you won't find a _Leroy_ or a _Jethro_ coke bottle," she mused. She arched a brow. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs, are you going to build a tiny _Gibbs_ boat and put it inside _Jenny_?"

He looked at her stoically for a moment, and then he nodded and gave her a mischievous grin, accepting the slap on the arm she gave him with grace and reaching out to touch her hips, a mildly lewd glint in his blue eyes.

She tilted her head back and sighed, shaking her head at him.

"God, how have you ever wooed a woman with flirtations like that?"

"The women I date like boat euphemisms."

"You're kidding yourself, Agent Gibbs."

"_Jen_."

"The door is open!"

"No one's here."

He looked at her, and she tilted her head at him.

"Why have you been so fluffy lately?" she asked.

"Fluffy?"

"Fluffy."

He gave her a look, and then shrugged. He squeezed her waist, and breathed out slowly.

"Ziva leavin'," he started. It had gotten him thinking, and so had her reasons for quitting the job. He frowned; his jaw tightened. "'M tired of bein' miserable, Jen."

She considered him, and wrinkled her nose, leaning forward. She put her arms around his neck, , letting the classic American soda bottle hit against his back, and she shook her head, lifting her shoulders.

"All this, from sharing a soda?" she asked wryly, her eyes sparkling teasingly. "Coca-Cola has one hell of a campaign on its books."

He pressed his lips to hers, and pulled her closer, happy to share some of the affection he'd forced himself to forget how to give in the years since he'd let his first loss get the best of him.

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_hope you enjoyed the dirty joke because i hella did._

_-Alexandra_

_story #216_


End file.
